If
by Ziggy Starr
Summary: One year later, Sarah reflects. [Sarah POV] R&R.


Title: If  
  
Author: Ziggy Starr  
  
Rating: R  
  
Archive: Sure, but who'd want it?  
  
Feedback: Hell yes.  
  
Contact: ZiggyStarr@aol.com  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Sarah or Jareth. They belong to their respective actors and Jim Henson Productions. I'm just using them for my own amusement and I'll put them right back where I found them as soon as I'm done. I promise. *Shifty eyes*  
  
Author's Notes: This is the product of boredom and listening to nonstop Bowie for three hours.  
  
IF  
  
I still have the memories. Even a year later, when it's all done and gone, I lie awake at night and stare up at my ceiling, trying to block them out. The paint is chipping and the color is fading, but I never bother to redo it. There's too much to do; life goes by too fast and I can't take it for granted that I'll still be alive. Take it for granted - at the words I smile, although I don't mean to and I catch myself before it turns into a full-fledged grin, annoyed with myself for finding any joy in the past. What's over is over, what's happened has, and I can't live in it anymore, although sometimes I want to. God, do I want to.  
  
I look over at my nightstand, at the sleek wood and the plain white shade on the table lamp. The shade used to be a frilly pink and white, but that's gone, too. I'm older, and there's no use trying to recapture my childhood. I can only go forward. The table's one drawer is slightly ajar and although I don't open it further I know exactly what's in it. The small playbook for the Labyrinth, the one I used to hold during rehearsal and think nothing of it. The one that meant nothing to me when I went to audition. That little booklet is the only thing in that drawer; I've never put anything else in with it. It doesn't need a companion, and it's there simply so I don't have to see it every day. But there are times, at night, when the moon is shining despite the torrents of rain splashing against my window, when I reach for it and hold it close to my chest, just to remember.  
  
My stuffed toys are gone now, along with the trinkets I used to hold dear, and above all else. Toby has long since discarded Lancelot, and we had a little tag sale recently; every child in the neighborhood seemed drawn to the animals. I hope they make them happy, even though their fur is probably worn and their limbs mangled. And Toby himself? He doesn't cry much anymore. It could be the passing of another year, or it could be that he has never forgotten his excursion underground. But whatever the reason, I'm grateful for it. I've changed too, at least, that's what my parents say, and what I hear whispered at school when people think I can't hear. I still look the same to myself when I cast a passing glance into a mirror, but I've grown quieter since last year's adventure.  
  
I hardly talk to anyone I used to consider my friends, I don't have a boyfriend although most of the other girls I know do - at least one. I guess that's the price one has to pay for being stuck on the past; it really ruins your social life. One boy actually tried to strike up a conversation with me after class a week or two ago, but it didn't last long. I had nothing to say, for I was afraid I'd slip and say something about last year, and if he didn't believe me he'd think I was crazy. But when I said hello, I did almost slip. I almost called him Jareth. I stopped myself of course; I bit my lip with a blush and hurried away, the blood pounding in my ears.  
  
Jareth isn't a name for everyday use, or even daily thought. It's a ghost of a whisper, only to be allowed on lonely, cold midnights when my hands trail over my stomach and slightly lower, down past the waistband of my night-clothes. It's a name to say slowly, to say softly and pleadingly as my hips shift off the mattress, as I imagine he's there with me, in my room. It's times like that, as I lie shuddering and panting beneath the covers, descending from my pleasure-high, when my thoughts turn to him, and what could have been.  
  
If I hadn't remembered that one line, what would have become of me? I whisper it now to the dark and empty room, the words bitter on my tongue. "You have no power over me." He had asked for so little, only that I love him, fear him, and do as he said - and he had offered so much. He had offered himself. If I had given in, if I had taken his hand and stepped further into his world for keeps, where would I be now? His face glides before me on wings of silk, like the auburn-tipped owl he could become. I feel as though if I lifted my hand I could touch him, but I know that that's nonsense and so I don't - I just lie and watch his image as it seems to hover.  
  
He was beautiful, and I fleetingly wonder if he still is. Alabaster skin, blond hair that was somehow unruly and well kept at the same time, deep eyes that I could swear were mismatched. And his smile - so cocky and arrogant, so enigmatic and inviting. It is at times like tonight that I would give anything to touch him, to run my fingers down his cool chest and let him show me what it means to be loved. I do believe he loved me, although he never told me outright - I could sense it in the way he moved and smirked and looked at me, with a mixture of scorn and affection.  
  
I silently scold myself for my lack of control over my own thoughts. A year later, and where am I? Alone in my room and fantasizing about the Goblin King, the very man who I rejected back then. I sit up slowly, pushing my hair behind my ears - it's grown longer - and push the covers back to the foot of the bed. Turning slightly, I slide down to the floor, my feet luxuriating in the soft carpet, and straighten up. It's only just begun to rain; I can hear the drops rustling through the leaves of the tree right outside my window, and I smile. The plan - it may not work, but it's been in the back of my mind for what seems like a lifetime. This is the perfect night to put it to action, my parents took Toby to the doctor for a routine check, so I have the house to myself.  
  
Turning to the mirror above my desk, I fold my arms over my chest and close my eyes, hesitating for a moment before speaking the words that I hope will summon Jareth back, if only for a moment. "I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away, right now." Substituting 'me' for 'you' wasn't much of a change in the wish, but it still could make all the difference - it could even mean that it wouldn't work. I let my arms fall to my sides and I slowly open my eyes.  
  
The room s empty and silent except for my heavy breathing and the rain. Although I was sure it wouldn't work, my face flushes and my eyes sting with hot tears. I wipe at them angrily. This isn't supposed to happen, I'm not supposed to care this much! A sudden flash of lighting and a rumble of thunder make me jump and whirl to face the window. It had happened in unison - something supposedly rare in nature, something I'd never seen nor heard before in my life. I bite my lip hard, almost drawing blood, and the small lock at the top of the window twists open.  
  
I stare at it in disbelief. It couldn't be .. how is the window now unlocked and opening slowly? The wind is outside and the lock is in, there's no logical explanation for it. A sudden fluttering form swoops down from the gray skies and in through the window, landing on my bookcase. An auburn-tipped owl. I don't dare imagine ... but it was. As I watch with wide eyes and open mouth, the owl increases in size and it's frame expands and shifts, elongating into a human form which soon stands in front of me with a smirk I know all too well.  
  
"Jareth.." I breathe, suddenly at a loss for words. The butterflies make a sudden appearance in my stomach and my heart leaps in a sudden display of lust and joy.  
  
"I've been waiting," he says, unfolding his arms and extending his hand to me.  
  
"So have I," I reply, and step towards him, taking his hand in mine. The leather of his glove is rough against my bare hand, so far from how I imagine his skin feels. He leans down and I have no time to wonder what he's doing, even though I already know. And I wouldn't stop him for the world. His mouth is on mine, his lips alternately soft and not-so as he kisses me with growing intensity. His tongue slips past my lips, questing, and glides against mine, and I quiver, leaning into him. His arms encircle me and hold me against him, and I know this is where I want to be forever. This feels too right to be the wrong choice.  
  
I break the kiss for air and stand there, panting, looking up at him with searching eyes. His hands trail up and down my sides and I smile softly as his hold on me tightens. I can see the desire in his eyes, I can feel his need in the way he embraces me. My hand slips down between us and his breath catches in his throat.  
  
"I've been lonely for a year," I murmur, and his eyes widen, pupils dilating as I observe.  
  
"That's about to change," he assures me, and one hand releases my waist for a moment. He makes some twisted, almost elegant wrist gestures and a sphere grows around us, shiny and clear and glittering all at once - like the crystal that held me captive in his mysterious masquerade the year before. I smile up at him and then lean my head against his shoulder. As my head fills with the dizzying sense of motion, I know that we're going to the underground, we're going home. And I no longer have to wonder, what if. 


End file.
